


My head is an animal

by sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands



Category: Leverage
Genre: Autistic Parker, Gen, I swear I'll change it when I think of something better, autistic Eliot, but nothing explicit, could be read as shippy - Freeform, i am once again incapable of naming fics without stealing from songs, now Beta'ed!!!, see individual chapters for trigger warnings, the team being cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-07-28 10:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7637395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands/pseuds/sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"“I ain't hurt,” he tells her.<br/>He’s not, not really. It wasn’t even a bad fight, in the grand scheme of things, he’s just tired, really fucking tired. That awful bone deep fatigue that comes from spending too long surrounded by people, pretending to be something you’re not. The type that no one but him seems to get. "</p><p>Or Eliot is autistic, Parker gets it.</p><p>(now Beta'ed!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, there's a grand total of three, THREE fics on the entire archive featuring autistic anyone which, given Parker being autistic is less of a headcanon and more, this little thing I like to call subtext, is outrageous! So I wrote my own.

Eliot’s entire body aches, which is not surprising, given that he spent the better part of his afternoon knocking heads. All he wants to do is lick his wounds in peace, but Nate just turned away from his apartment, and no matter how hard Eliot tries he can’t quite muster up the energy to tell him to pull over.   
The others are loud, still riding that post-con high. Sophie’s sitting up front with Nate, the two of them bickering affectionately. Parker, Hardison and Eliot are riding in the back. Hardison’s giving a loud, and rather inaccurate, action replay of what he considers the con’s highlights while Parker nods attentively, butting in frequently to add sound effects, and her own equally inaccurate side of the story and just about anything else that pops into her head. Usually Eliot would join in, laughing, rolling his eyes, bickering with Hardison about how it really happened, but today Eliot just wants them to shut up. They’re too loud, Hardison’s stupid tech is too bright, Eliot can’t think right, he can’t tell them to shut up either, so instead he bites back his frustration and rests his head against the wall of the van and shuts his eyes. He doesn’t sleep, but he drifts. 

“Hey, man, you alright?” 

Eliot starts a little when he realizes Hardison’s talking to him.   
He cracks an eye open and frowns at the hacker. Both him and Parker are looking at him with something approaching concern. Or, Hardison is anyway; Parker mostly just looks like a dog that’s seen a squirrel, which, honestly, _could_ be concern on her. 

“Eliot?” Hardison says again, and Eliot realizes he never actually answered. 

“What?” he says, a little more harshly than necessary, but maybe if they think he’s in a bad mood they won’t try to talk to him. 

“You okay?” Hardison asks again.

Eliot grunts in reply because grunting is easy, and doesn’t require trying to make his mouth form words.   
Thankfully, they leave him alone after that, at least until the van grinds to a halt and everyone starts moving again. Eliot bites back a groan, eyes still closed, and tries to convince himself to get up. He’s aware of Nate jumping out of the front shortly followed by Sophie, and of Hardison yanking the door open. He’s also aware that Parker hasn’t moved.   
He tries to bark, “what?” at her, but it doesn’t come out, so instead he turns and glares at her. She’s sitting, legs crossed and head tilted, in the seat besides him.

“You look tired,” she informs him, and Eliot ups his glare. 

“You’re not hurt, are you?” she says, and then, quickly, “you don’t have to talk, just like, nod or shake.” 

Which, wait _what?_ He guesses some of his surprise must have shown on his face because Parker’s saying, “sometimes talking is hard for me, too,” and Eliot wonders vaguely if she’s fucking psychic or something. 

“I ain’t hurt,” he tells her. He’s not, not really. It wasn’t even a bad fight, in the grand scheme of things. He’s just tired, really fucking tired, that awful bone deep fatigue that comes from spending too long surrounded by people, pretending to be something you’re not. The type that no one but him seems to get. 

“Okay,” Parker says cheerily. She watches him for a moment before smiling sweetly and shoving her outstretched hand in his face, wiggling her fingers in such a way as to suggest Eliot take it. 

“We should go inside. Alec’s going to order pizza and put on Star Trek and you don’t have to say a word if you don’t want to.” 

Eliot just blinks at her. He still hasn’t quite grasped that she doesn’t just think he’s being an asshole, let alone that she might _get_ it.   
Parker wiggles her fingers again, a little more insistently now, and somewhat hesitantly Eliot reaches out and takes her hand, allowing himself to be dragged out towards the others. 

 

The others, it turns out, noticed their absence. And, if the looks they give him when he walks in are anything to go by, they noticed something’s _up_ too.   
Nate and Sophie are sitting at the breakfast bar in Nate’s kitchenette, while Hardison’s on the sofa fiddling with a laptop. 

Nate frowns at him, narrowing his eyes and giving a little nod. Eliot knows him well enough now to recognize this for what it is: Nate’s way of asking “you good?” 

He nods back, shooting Nate a brief smile. “Yeah,” it says, “I’m good.” 

Nate watches Eliot for a moment before nodding curtly again and turning back to the coffee he’s nursing. One of the things Eliot has always appreciated about Nate is that the man trusts him enough to take him at his word and not try to look after him. 

“Eliot,” Sophie says brightly, “I was just about to put the kettle on, you want a drink?”

“Sure,” Eliot shrugs, mostly because he knows he’s going to end up with tea no matter how he answers. 

Taking the mug from Sophie with a grunt he hopes counts as “thanks,” he slides onto the sofa next to Hardison, who is apparently in the middle of ordering them pizza.   
Parker’s sitting on Hardison’s other side, excitedly pointing out pizza toppings from the menu, jabbing Hardison’s computer as she does. Eliot smirks a little watching Hardison grimace every time her finger makes contact with his screen. 

“I want that one!” Parker announces. 

“Parker, you can’t have _nine different pizza toppings!_ ” Hardison says, his voice rising comically in something approaching despair. 

“Why not?”

“Oh _my god, woman!_ ” Hardison exclaims, and Eliot lets his head fall back against the sofa, chuckling softly as he listens to them bicker.

It’s a while later, after Hardison’s finally managed to convince Parker that the maximum amount of toppings she can order is three, and their pizzas are firmly in the “on route” box, that he turns to Eliot and says, “you good?” 

“Eliot’s having a quiet day,” Parker interrupts before Eliot can reply. Mostly because in the good thirty seconds it’s taken him to actually process what Hardison said, the “amount of time you can spend staring at someone before replying without it becoming weird” has passed. 

“Oh!” Hardison says. Eliot has no fucking clue what Parker’s talking about, but it obviously means something to Hardison. “Hey man, tha’s cool, tha’s cool,” he drawls. 

“So, you’re, you know… Like Parker?” Hardison asks. 

Eliot _doesn’t_ know, and he’s halfway through asking Hardison what the fuck he’s talking about when Parker says, “you can say autistic, Hardison.”

“Alright.” Hardison says, turning back to Eliot. “So, you’re autistic too?”

“ _What?”_ Eliot stutters a little, his heart catching in his throat. Hardison doesn’t seem to notice Eliot’s panic, which is frankly impressive because Eliot feels like someone’s sitting on his chest, the band of white-hot panic around his ribs squeezes. 

Hardison, apparently is not as oblivious as Eliot assumed because abruptly his eyebrows knit together in what Eliot thinks is concern. “Eliot?” he starts. 

“How the hell’d you--I didn’t--no one was--“

“It’s okay. _Eliot_ , it’s okay.” Parker reaches over Hardison and puts a hand on his arm and Eliot forces himself to _breathe_. 

“What-What, what did I do?” Hardison sounds so panicked that Eliot feels kind of bad for him. 

“You weren’t ‘sposed to know that,” Eliot tells him. 

“Why not?” 

“ _Because no one knows that, Hardison!”_ Eliot growls. 

“Oh,” Hardison says, at the same time as Parker says, “that’s not true.”

“I knew,” she adds with a little shrug when they both turn to look at her. 

“You’re different,” Eliot mutters. Parker grins in response. 

“I’m sorry,” Hardison says, and it sounds like a question. 

“Don’t be,” Eliot grunts, “ain’t your fault.” 

“You know,” Hardison says, slowly, “it’s okay, right?”

Eliot grunts. 

“Eliot--“

“Not _now_ Hardison, okay?” Eliot snaps, because he’s sore and tired and his brain still hasn’t remembered how to make his mouth do words properly. The last thing on earth he wants to do is _talk_ about it. 

Thankfully Hardison nods. “Hey man, tha’s cool, whatever you need.”  
Eliot rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he settles back into the couch, shifting closer to Hardison again.   
Hardison puts Star Trek on, making Eliot groan, and Parker makes some dumb comment about liking the old uniforms better and accidentally sparks one of Hardison’s rants, which earns him even more groaning and a (light) punch in the arm. For the most part Eliot sits, the others talking and laughing around him; their presence is soft, and warm, comfortable. Every once in awhile someone nudges him, asks him how he’s doing, offers him food, or in Hardison’s case, rants about god-knows-what at him. He’d never admit it, but he can’t think of a better way to spend an evening.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer* I know jack shit about the US military so, if anything Eliot says about it is inaccurate, well, that's why.

“Why am I even here?” Hardison whines, and Eliot grits his teeth. 

“Y’all don’t need me! Why’s it take three of us to watch a house, huh? A trained monkey could do this, _Eliot_ could do thi-- Ow!” Hardison breaks off as Eliot shoves him into the door of his truck. 

“I swear to god Hardison, if you don’t shut up I’m gonna make you,” Eliot says, in the sweet-as-honey-and-fake-as-hell voice he reserves _just_ for Hardison.

Hardison glares darkly at Eliot but doesn’t say anything. 

They’re parked outside the mark’s house in Eliot’s pickup truck, Hardison’s folded into the seat next to him, his long limbs sticking out at odd angles. He’s got his knees resting against the dashboard and a computer balanced on his lap. Parker’s stretched out across the back seats, her feet dangling out of the open window. She’s got a padlock and lock-pick set and Eliot bites back a smile watching as she locks and unlocks it over and over, her nimble little hands moving faster than should be humanly possible.   
He sits for a while, listening to the soft click-click of Parker’s padlock in the back seat and Hardison’s grumbling. He’s contemplating turning the radio on when Parker’s voice floats over. 

“Can I ask you something, Eliot?” she says, in a voice that on anyone else would make him say, “no.”

“Sure, darlin’,” he says instead, because he has long since given up pretending there’s anything he wouldn’t do for her. 

“When’d you find out?”

“When’d I find what out?” Eliot growls. 

“That you’re autistic.”

Eliot blinks, Hardison goes still beside him but doesn’t say anything. 

“When--“ Eliot falters, clears his throat and starts again. “When I got back after my first tour, they, they made my unit go to these dumb therapy sessions.” 

Hardison snorts, “oh I bet _that_ went down well!” 

Eliot laughs, and some of the tension breaks. “Yeah, well, anyway, my shrink brought it up pretty quick but,” Eliot shrugs, “I was never assessed or anythin’.”

“Why not?” Hardison asks.

Eliot raises an eyebrow at him. “I wanted to keep my job, Hardison!” 

“Why would that’ve meant--“

“You can’t join the army if you’re autistic!” Eliot snaps, but given that’s pretty much his normal tone neither of the others really pay much attention.

“What?” Hardison exclaims, sounding scandalized, “nuh-uh, that can’t be right! Doesn’t that violate the ADA or somethin’? That can’t be legal!”

“ _It’s the army, Hardison!_ They ain’t exactly known for bein’ inclusive.” 

“Man, that _sucks!_ ”

Eliot grunts his agreement. 

“It’s okay,” Parker says cheerfully, reaching over to squeeze Eliot’s arm, “a diagnosis is just a piece of paper, it doesn’t change anything. It’s not like it’d do you any good anyway, not in our line of work.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Eliot drawls, voice light with amusement. 

“I’ve always known,” Parker says, her voice dreamy, “didn’t talk till I was four.” She shrugs. “Kinda hard to miss.”

“That don’t surprise me,” Eliot informs her, “what was that like, huh? Goin’ through school an’ shit actually knowing?”

“Hell,” she says, matter of factly. “What was it like not knowing?”

“Hell.” 

Parker throws her head back and laughs.

“What are y’all laughing at?” Hardison voice raises incredulously as Eliot hides his laughter behind his fist. 

“That ain’t funny!”


	3. Chapter 3

Eliot gets quiet when he’s overloaded; Parker gets hyper. 

It’s late, it’s raining and they’re all exhausted.   
They’ve been working this con for _weeks_ and Parker’s bouncing off the walls, her eyes bright and somewhat manic, and nothing she’s said in the last half hour has made any sense. 

“Do you ever think about clouds?” She skips over to the bar bouncing into the space between him and Nate, who takes a long, measured breath and squeezes his eyes closed. 

“No, Parker,” Eliot tells her, because he’s honestly not sure which of them she was addressing but he’s fairly certain Nate’s not gonna answer. “I don’t think about clouds.”

“They look yummy! Like I just wanna eat them! Do you think they’d taste like vanilla?”

“Naw, Parker, I don’t,” Eliot says at the same time as Nate says, “Parker,” his voice low in warning. 

“Oh,” she says, pouting, “they look so soft and fluffy! Like a big feather pillow!” She flaps her hands as she says this, nearly knocking Eliot’s glasses off his face and Nate shoots him a look.

“Parker, why-why don’t you go sit down? Over there.” Nate’s attempts to cajole her into joining Hardison on the couch are about as effective as Eliot figured they’d be.

“Nuh-uh” she shakes her head, solemnly. 

“Parker,” Nate growls.

“I’m sorry! I know I’m being annoying, I’m not trying to be. It’s just all so much and nothing I say comes out straight--”

“ _Parker._ ” 

“Hey,” Eliot says, firmly enough to be threatening, but softly enough not to disturb the others, “leave it alone, Nate.”

“My head’s too small.” Parker’s voice is soft and she’s leaning towards Eliot now. 

“What?”

“My head’s too small,” she says again, “sometimes it’s not big enough for all of me and I just, float away.” She twists around so her back is pressed up against his side, tips her head back against his shoulder and reaches out for something only she can see, her fingers fluttering in the air. “You know?” 

Eliot’s somewhat surprised to realize he does. “Yeah,” he says, pretending he doesn’t see the way Nate’s looking at him. 

“I don’t like it, it’s too much,” she scowls, somewhat adorably, “I can’t think right!”

“Yeah, darlin’ I know,” Eliot says, soothingly, casting around for something he can change to make it better for her but comes up short. He gets the distinct impression that Nate won’t be particularly tolerant to him turning lights off and he can’t exactly expect the others to stop talking. 

“Come with me.” He stands, and holds a hand out to her. She cocks her head, frowning at Eliot.   
“Back to front,” she says. 

“Hrm?”

“We did this before, just back to front.”

“Yeah darlin’,” Eliot laughs, “we did.” 

Nate’s got that look in his eyes, the look he gets when confronted with a puzzle that he wants to solve. Eliot steels himself, turning his attention away from the fact that having that gaze directed at him sort of makes him wish the floor would open up beneath him, or that there was someone to punch. Unfortunately, neither of those situations are particularly likely, but Parker is more important than his fear of Nate figuring out what he is anyway. 

So Eliot wiggles his fingers at her and winks, and with that Parker slips her little hand into his and lets him lead her out of the condo and down the stairs. She whimpers when they reach the bar and clamps her free hand over her ear. Frankly, Eliot wants to join her. 

He can usually deal with bar, but he’s tired, on edge and half-overloaded already, so tonight all he can do is grit his teeth and duck his head until they’re through. He leads her out a side entrance, ignoring the large “Employee Only” signs on at least two doors and bringing them out into a back alley. 

It’s damp and dirty and smells faintly of cigarettes and booze, but it’s dark and quiet and the wind is just sharp enough to be grounding. Eliot takes a second to put himself back together before he turns to Parker. 

“I wanna try somethin’.”

She nods, rocking back and forth on her heels and not looking at him. 

“I’m gonna touch you,” he says, stepping towards her slowly, giving her time to move away. “That okay?”

She looks at him then, really looks. She doesn’t try to make eye contact, which Eliot’s glad of, but her gaze settles on his face and her eyebrows knit together as she considers.   
Finally she nods.

Eliot closes the space between them with one long stride, wraps his arms around her and squeezes tight.

“Oh!” Parker breathes, and melts against him, making him smirk. He tightens his grip as much as he dares and Parker sighs contentedly. 

Eliot buries his smile in Parker’s hair. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Parker liked confined spaces, air ducts, closets, the space under desks; didn’t matter what it was, if it was small and dark chances were Parker loved it. Eliot’s never been a fan of small spaces, but he gets it: they make her feel safe. Add that to everything Eliot knows about autism and it hadn’t been too much of a leap to guess that Parker enjoys pressure, and if this helps her calm down, well, Eliot’s more than happy to oblige. 

They stand there for a while, the silence broken only when Parker presses her face too close to his neck and he hisses through his teeth. Parker moves before he can say anything, pressing her face firmly into his chest and Eliot squeezes his eyes shut until his skin stops burning. 

Finally Parker shifts, leaning away from him just a touch. Eliot releases her, smoothly stepping back. She’s calmer now, he can tell; the nervous energy is drained away and she smiles easily at him. 

“Thanks, Eliot.” 

She reaches over and touches his arm, her fingers curling over his forearm. 

“I’m going home,” she tells him, turning on her heels and floating into the night. 

 

Sophie’s gone when he strolls back into Nate’s apartment, Hardison’s still sprawled on the sofa, with his computer on his lap and a bottle of Fanta on the table in front of him and Nate’s still sitting at the breakfast bar where Eliot left him.

Hardison waves as Eliot walks in, not taking his eyes off his computer, and Nate glances up long enough to acknowledge his presence before going back to the schematic he’s studying. 

“Where’s Parker?” Hardison asks.

“Went home,” Eliot grunts. 

Hardison gives him a quick thumbs up before diving back into what Eliot’s pretty sure is _World of Warcraft_. Shaking his head, Eliot slides onto the bar stool next to Nate again. 

“What was that all about?” Nate doesn’t beat around the bush, Eliot will give him that. 

“Nothin’.”

“Didn’t look like nothing.”

Eliot grits his teeth and turns towards Nate, forcing himself to meet the other man’s gaze. 

“That’s cuz it wasn’t nothin’, Nate, but you know what else it wasn’t?”

Nate quirks his eyebrows. “No, please, do tell me,” they say.

“Any of your business.”

Nate blinks, cocking his head slightly. “Alright,” he says, with an amused shrug, “fair enough.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so, this chapter contains a warning for a brief depiction of self injurious stims.

“Hey, man.” 

Eliot jerks his head up at Hardison’s greeting. 

He’s sitting on a low, brick wall outside the office building Parker’s carrying out recon on. It’s late, the building’s mostly empty, Parker could break in with one hand tied behind her back; he and Hardison are mostly here as look-outs and backup. Or, Eliot’s here as a look-out/ backup, he’s pretty sure Hardison’s only here because he was bored. 

“‘Sup?” 

“Not much.” Hardison plops down on the wall next to him and yawns lazily. Eliot rolls his eyes, and then shoves him roughly, hissing, “dammit Hardison,” when that makes him yawn too. 

“How’s it going, Parker,” Eliot barks when he’s finished bitching.

Parker giggles, she actually fucking giggles. “Oh this is _great!_ Do you know how long it’s been since I broke into somewhere? Huh? Do you?”

“No, Parker.”

“Almost _two weeks!”_

“Aha, that’s--that’s great Parker,” Hardison interrupts, “but can we get a move on before the security system comes back online? Even I can’t keep it looped forever.”

“Ugh, _fine,_ ” Parker grumbles, “-never get to have _any_ fun--all Parker do this, Parker do that-- could’ve taken care of the alarm system--“

Eliot growls down the comm line and tunes Parker out. 

“Hey, Eliot,” Hardison says without looking up from his laptop. “Can I ask you something?”

Eliot grunts. It’s not like there’s much else to do. 

“Parker, too.” Hardison adds. 

“No,” Parker says, “shhhh, no talking! I’m working!”

“Ooookay… Imma mute our mics for a bit?”

“Finally--I uh, I mean, okay! Suuure!” 

Hardison presses a couple of buttons on his laptop before turning back to Eliot. 

“You and Parker, you don’t like being touched, do you?”

Eliot blinks. He’s not sure _what_ he’d been expecting Hardison to ask, but it wasn’t _that._

“How’d you figure?” Eliot asks, partly to avoid answering the question and partly because he didn’t think anyone had noticed that, well, except Parker. 

Hardison shrugs. “Parker straight up flinches or stabs folk with cutlery! Wasn’t hard to figure out. An’ you, I dunno man, sometimes, you look at me like you ain’t seein’ _me_ and man, I don’t know who you are seein’ but I’m pretty sure you wanna punch ‘em in face an--”

“Alright!” Eliot snaps. 

“Sorry.”

“What do you want from this, Hardison?” 

“You an Parker, you don’t--She never flinches from you, you never--“

“Look like I’m gonna deck her?” He means it to be funny, but he’s not sure he succeeds. 

“Yeah,” Hardison agrees. 

“Maybe I just like her more, huh, ya ever think of that?” 

“Eliot! I am trying to have a serious conversation here!”

“Who says I’m not _being_ serious? No secret you’re a pain the ass.”

Hardison lets out a frustrated huff. “Whatever man,” he shakes his head, and starts collecting his things.

“Hey!” Eliot says as he starts to stand, “hey, Hardison don’t-- _Hey!_ Don’t--” Eliot grabs his wrist as he starts to walk back to the van. Hardison stops short, turning back to look at Eliot.  
“Sit down!” Eliot growls, but he’s pretty sure his relief is obvious when Hardison _does._

“Look, man, I just wanna know what to do, so I don’t keep hurting you guys by mistake.”

Eliot stares at him. He can count on one hand the number of people who’ve ever understood that it _hurts_ him, and none, save Parker, have ever understood that without being told. 

“Don’t… don’t touch me from behind,” Eliot tells the floor.

“Alright,” Hardison nods, “yeah man, I can do that.”

“Don’t do that to Parker either, ‘less you wanna get stabbed with a fork. An’ I don’t,” Eliot falters slightly, “I don’t like bein’ touched gently.”

He half expects Hardison to crack a joke about him liking it rough, or something equally crude. He doesn’t though, instead he just asks, “why?”

Why indeed. The first thing that comes to mind is, “‘cuz it makes me want to claw my skin off,” or, “‘cuz it makes me want to punch you,” and he’s pretty sure that won’t actually answer Hardison’s question. 

“I don’t, I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels _bad_ , worse than bad…” Eliot trails off, but Hardison just nods, apparently satisfied.

“Sooo,” he says, and reaches out, placing his hand firmly on Eliot forearm and squeezing, before looking up at Eliot expectantly. 

“Don’t move your hand around neither.”

“This all go for Parker, too?”

Eliot sighs. “Look, man, I ain’t Parker. You wanna know what works for her you gotta ask her. It’s probably a good startin’ point though,” Eliot adds when Hardison pouts. 

“Hey, Eliot,” Hardison reaches over and squeezes Eliot’s arm again, and Eliot gives him a smile in return. 

“Hey! Are you boys done gossiping yet? Because we need to get out of here.” Parker’s voice floats through the comm line and both of them surge into action. Hardison must’ve unmuted their comms because he and Parker are chatting amicably as he gathers his equipment. Eliot scans the parking lot as they head back to the van, glancing back towards the offices in time to see Parker swan diving gracefully off the roof. He’s not entirely sure why that was necessary but he’s given up questioning his little thief. 

She waves jauntily at them as Hardison pulls the van around to meet her. 

 

Eliot fully expected that to be the end of that and that their conversation would never come up again. 

He realizes quickly he should’ve had more faith in Hardison, because everything he asked for he receives. It becomes apparent that he had a similar conversation with Parker too, and slowly, something in their dynamic shifts. Eliot and Parker have always been comfortable around each other, in a way they just _aren’t_ with the others, but now Hardison finds himself included in their little circle. 

Eliot’s not sure if increasing the amount of food he shoves at Hardison under the guise of leftovers counts as a “thank you” but he’s pretty sure Hardison isn’t complaining. He is grateful, more grateful than he really knows how to express, so he enjoys having increased his “list of people he’s _actually_ comfortable around” and increases the quantity of culinary treats Hardison receives and hopes he understands. 

He’s still trying to figure out how to thank Hardison when it all goes to shit. 

It’s not Hardison’s fault, it really isn’t. 

Eliot’s having a bad day, in every possible sense of the phrase. It’s one of those days that Eliot knew was going to be awful before he’d even dragged himself out of bed. Not that’d he’d actually _gone_ to bed last night; it’d been so late by the time they’d gotten in that Eliot had just crashed on Nate’s sofa.  
He woke up tired and irritable and half-overloaded, everything too loud and bright and he almost punched Nate when he smacked him lightly on the arm. He managed to pull himself together well enough to get through the day. He’s not exactly a stranger to days like this, where everything is ramped up to 11 on a scale from 1-10, nothing anyone says or does makes sense and nothing Eliot says comes out quite right. 

So by the time they finally make it back to the office he’s tired, frustrated and pretty sure he’s managed to piss off every single member of his crew, and possibly the mark as well. Nate doesn’t even bother coming upstairs, he just makes a beeline for the bar and orders a drink. Sophie rolls her eyes and follows him, and the rest of them head up to the apartment. 

Eliot flings himself onto the sofa, resting his head against the back and closing his eyes. Parker perches herself on the arm of the chair nearest Eliot and Hardison heads to the kitchen. 

Eliot’s head hurts, and all he wants is to sleep in his own bed tonight. Unfortunately, moving seems like far more effort than it’s worth right now. He’s trying to muster the willpower to get up, go downstairs and get in his truck when Hardison plops down beside him and haphazardly throws an arm around Eliot. His hand lands on Eliot’s shoulder, brushing his neck in just the wrong way, and Eliot’s mind goes blank. It should’ve been fine--well, not fine, but he should’ve been able to deal with it--but not today, apparently. He would’ve been embarrassed about the frankly ridiculous yelp that comes out of his mouth, if there was anything except pure undiluted panic running through his mind and he freezes. He wants to move, or tell Hardison to stop or really just do anything except sit here trying not to scream or punch his best friend in the face but he can’t. 

“Hardison, let go of him _right now._ ”

“Wha--“

“Let go!”

Hardison yanks his hand back with a muffled curse and Eliot pitches forward, curling in on himself. 

“El-Eliot?” Hardison shifts towards him slightly. Eliot growls and digs his fingernails into the spot where Hardison’s hand had been. It doesn’t help; he can still feel the ghost of the touch and it _burns_ , so he claws at it instead. It hurts, but that’s better; pain he can deal with, it’s real, it’s definable, it gives him something to hold on to. 

“He-hey man don’t--“

Hardison shifts closer again and Eliot’s panic rises a notch, partly because he needs Hardison to back the hell up and partly because he knows if Hardison keeps pushing he’s going to lash out. Eliot’s dangerous, they all know it, except Hardison seems to forget, and Eliot’s not sure he could bear it if one of them got hurt because he’s not in control. He shifts and bites down on the knuckle of his first finger, _hard_. Hard enough that Hardison winces and grabs his wrist.

“Hardison, go and sit over there!” Parker’s voice interrupts before he attempts to forcibly move Eliot’s hand from his mouth.

“But he’s--“

“ _Now_ , Hardison!” She leaves no room for argument and the sofa shifts as Hardison moves off it and Eliot finds breathing gets just a little bit easier. 

He’s not sure how long they sit there for, but gradually he relaxes. Eventually he shifts, running his fingers through his hair and unfurling slowly. 

“You okay?” Parker asks softly and Eliot nods, flashing her a smile.

“Hey, Eliot…” Hardison trails off and Eliot’s eyes snap to him. He looks guilty, Eliot thinks, and something else he can’t read and Eliot just wants to leave. It was one thing having Hardison know, in theory, that Eliot’s different. It’s another thing entirely having him see it first hand. It makes Eliot want to curl up and hide, it makes him want to hit something. There’s a reason he doesn’t let people see this. After all, how could he ever expect anyone to trust him with their _life_ after that?

“Look I… Eliot I’m sor--“

“Don’t!” Eliot snaps. “Just, don’t. Alright? Ain’t your fault.”

Hardison opens his mouth, and then promptly closes it again, looking pained and Eliot sighs. 

“I’m goin' home, alright, I--just forget it, okay?” 

Eliot slams the door behind him as he leaves. 

 

Eliot _means_ to find Hardison and talk about it, he really does, but then Nate calls at quarter to six in the morning telling him they’re on, and they spend the next three days frantically preparing for the con. 

So, by the time either of them get free enough to actually have any sort of conversation about it the moment has well and truly passed. 

Besides, Hardison doesn’t say anything, either to Eliot or the others. He doesn’t even look up when the bad guys find them in the server room, and, most importantly, he doesn’t question Eliot’s ability to take care of them. So Eliot assumes they’re fine. 

They’re not, though. He sees it every time Hardison reaches out to him and stops, catching himself before he can touch him. At first, Eliot assumes if he just ignores it, it’ll go away, Hardison will get over it, they’ll be okay. Eventually though, he has to admit he just doesn’t want to have this conversation, he has to admit he’s afraid of what Hardison will say if he asks. 

Nate saves him from having to make a decision by marching up to them at the end of a con, over a month after this whole thing started, and kicking everyone but them out. 

Nate stares at them, in silence for a long, and awkward moment. Well, awkward for them; Nate looks perfectly at ease. Eventually though, he sighs, and throws out his arms in an exasperated shrugging motion. 

“ _What_ is going on with you two?” It’s more of a demand than a question.

“Wha-What? N-nothing, man, nothing,” Hardison stutters, “ain’t nothin’ going on with us, Nate, we’re cool, r-right, Eliot? We’re cool?”

Eliot gives Hardison a frustrated shrug and growls, “I don’t know, Hardison, you tell me?” 

“I--Wait-- _What_?” Hardison does a frankly comedic double take at that. 

“You’re the one that’s been actin’ weird, man!” Eliot snarls. 

“W-what me? Mmm-mmm,” Hardison shakes his head dramatically. “Not me, man, I ain’t being weird.”

Eliot glares at him and Nate clears his throat. “Alright, well, I’m heading downstairs. You two sort this out, and sort it out _tonight._ ”

With that, Nate turns on his heel and saunters out the door.

“Nah man, I’m serious, I ain’t acting weird!” 

_Fine_ , Eliot thinks, _if Hardison’s gonna make me spell it out for him, fine_ , and with a faint growl he takes a pointed step forward and tries not to let it sting when Hardison takes a step back. 

“See!” he growls, “that, right there, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“I- Wha--“

“Look, Hardison, I get it. I’m ‘sposed to keep you safe, an’ how can you trust me to protect you after…” Eliot trails off with a vague hand gesture.

“Eliot--“

“No, Hardison, listen to me!” Eliot cuts him off, “I can do my job, okay. Been doing it for nearly three years without this gettin’ in the way an--“

“Wait, wait wait _wait!_ Hold up!” Hardison throws his hand up in a “stop” motion. “Mmm-mmm, no, just, wait up!” He pauses to take a breath before continuing. “Is that what you thought this was about, man?”

Eliot stares at him for a second before saying, “that’s not what this was about?”

“No.” Hardison looks so crestfallen that Eliot actually feels sorry for him. 

“What was it about, then?”

“I… I just, I didn’t want that to happen again.”

“Seriously?” Eliot gapes at him, “so all this, you actin’ weird, keepin’ your distance, that was...?”

“You don’t like being touched,” Hardison says, “and, I-- me and Parker, we talked and, I wanted you to know I respect that.”

“Dammit Hardison!” Eliot pinches the bridge of his nose, and Hardison looks sheepish. 

“Guess I, kinda fucked that one up, then?”

“Ya think?”

Hardison shifts sheepishly and Eliot softens. “Look, man, I appreciate it, ok, but you can stop.” He waits until Hardison nods before carrying on. “It happens sometimes, alright. Probably does to Parker too,” Hardison nods again at that. “It ain’t… You remember what I told you before? In the parking lot? Just stick to that, you’ll be fine.”

 

“I hurt you, Eliot,” Hardison says, and suddenly hits him that Hardison feels guilty. 

“Naw, man, it weren’t your fault,” he says gently. “You didn’t... you didn’t do it purpose, right?”

“Of course not!”

“Then it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” Eliot tells him lightly.

“Hey,” Hardison, rests a hand on Eliot’s shoulder, and lines them up in a way that indicates he wants Eliot to make eye contact. Eliot doesn’t, settling instead on the patch of wall slightly to the left of his friend’s face. “I’m sorry,” Hardison says, his voice low and serious. 

Eliot shifts his gaze briefly so it’s actually on Hardison and flashes him a smile. “Well then, apology accepted.” Hardison beams.

“C’mon, man, I need a beer,” Eliot says after a beat, clapping Hardison on the back and making towards the fridge.


	5. Chapter 5

“What the hell was that?” Nate rounds on him the moment they step through the door. 

“What the hell was _what?”_ Eliot snaps. 

“Oh don’t-don’t play dumb with me Eliot!” Nate snarls, “I know you too well.”

“What do you want from me, Nate?” 

“I want to know what the hell just happened!”

“You were there!” Eliot growls.

“Oh, cut the crap Eliot, I expect that from _Parker_ , but not from you!”

“Oh, leave it alone, Nate,” Sophie says, lightly, laying a placating hand on Nate’s arm. Eliot’s glad of the interruption because he’s honestly not sure what he would’ve said or done to Nate in response to that. 

“You know it’s not his fault,” Sophie continues. 

“Oh! Of course, I forgot, someone made Eliot antagonize the mark.” Nate’s voice drips sarcasm. 

“It wasn’t on purpose!” Parker exclaims, and Eliot wants to hug her, even if he doesn’t need her to stick up for him. 

“Oh, come on Nate, you know he’s autistic,” Sophie says, in a tone that suggests she’s just announced that Eliot’s hair is long.

Several things happen at once. Nate, eyebrows drawn in confusion, says, “no he isn’t,” in a tone that sounds more like a question and Eliot rounds on Hardison.

“You _told_ her?” he demands, hating the way his voice catches. 

“What, no! Man, _no_.” There’s something in Hardison’s face that makes Eliot realize, deep down, that he believes him. 

“Then how the hell’d she know?” Eliot snaps, not quite ready to give his anger up yet.

“ _She_ has a name you know,” Sophie says indignantly.

“Sophie,” Eliot says, pointedly, “how. Did you _know_ that?”

Sophie frowns in surprise, “Eliot, sweetie, I’m a grifter, it’s my _job_ to know these things.”

“I--“ Eliot stutters, “how--how long’ve you known?”

“Since about, ohh, a week after we met.”

Eliot lets out a strangled laugh. “ _Seriously?”_

Whatever Sophie was going to say to this is cut off by Nate. “Wait-wait, _enough_ , will one of you _please_ explain what the hell is going on?”

There’s silence for a moment. Parker had backed herself into a corner when Nate started yelling and hasn’t moved since, and Sophie and Hardison look pointedly at Eliot.

“Ain’t really sure what you’re confused about, Nate,” Eliot tells him conversationally. 

He knows exactly what Nate’s confused about, he just can’t bring himself to say it, Nate and Sophie are as much his family as the others, that doesn’t mean he’s not terrified of them finding out. After all, a lifetime of hiding is a hard habit to break. 

Part of him knows he’s being ridiculous; Nate knows him, knows his reputation, knows what he can do better than any of them, save Eliot himself. They’ve been working together for over three years, for god’s sake. Finding out is not going to change anything, not really, especially if Sophie’s known all this time. 

“You’re not autistic.”

“Really?” Eliot asks, in the most sarcastic tone he can manage, “that’s funny, Nate, I didn’t realize you were a psychologist.”

Nate has the decency to look somewhat bashful at that, and Eliot’s temper dials down a notch, at least until Nate frowns, and says, “I didn’t… You don’t, you don’t _seem_ \--“

“Go ahead,” Eliot growls, “finish that sentence.” He takes half a step towards Nate, who, to his credit, does not back down. He doesn’t finish his sentence though.

Instead he turns to address the room instead of just Eliot. “And what, _everyone_ else knew this? All of you knew, except me?” He sounds more amused than anything, shaking his head as he turns back to Eliot. “How’d I not see that?”

“I dunno, man,” Eliot says, a hint of something playful seeping into his voice, “but that’s gotta be embarrassing. Tell me, what bugs you more, the fact that you were the last to know, or the fact that you’re the only one who didn’t work it out for themselves?”

The tension breaks. Hardison laughs, moves to snag a bottle of soda from the fridge and throws himself onto the sofa. Sophie, chuckling fondly, slides onto a bar stool. Parker hops on the arm of a chair and Nate frowns. 

“Moving on,” he says briskly. His expression, somewhere between exasperation and fondness, is one Eliot knows well. “We _still_ have to figure out how to salvage this con now that Eliot’s pissed off the mark instead of seducing her--“

“It weren’t on purpose!” Eliot snaps. 

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Nate waves a placating hand at Eliot, “I don’t understand, though, what happened to all that Southern charm?” 

Nate’s tone and expression is light, playful even, and Eliot’s pretty sure he doesn’t expect a serious answer. He also knows Nate well enough to realize he probably wants a serious answer, even if he won’t push for it. 

“I guess,” Eliot sighs, throwing himself onto a bar stool and ignoring the little voice in his head screaming that everything’s falling apart. _You trust Nate,_ he reminds himself. _After all the man’s done for you, you at least owe him your honesty._

“Hrm?” Nate, sliding a glass of whisky over the bar to Eliot and pouring his own. 

“I don’t always read people right, I don’t-- I don’t always know what they want from me, so I guess. Sometimes I guess wrong.” 

“Like today?” Nate asks evenly, sliding into the stool next to him. Eliot winces. 

“Yeah, like today.” 

Nate nods, contemplating his drink. 

“Look, man,” Eliot sighs, “I ain’t above grovelling, but, I think she kinda hates me now…”

“Oh she _definitely_ hates you!” Parker says gleefully. 

“Parker’s right,” Nate sighs, “she’s far too proud to let you woo her now, not without doing something truly ridiculous anyway.”

Eliot groans, letting himself pitch forward until his head thumps against the bar. 

“Hey, man, look at it this way,” Eliot can hear the grin in Hardison’s voice. “You might’ve fucked up the con irreparably, but _god_ was it satisfying to see her taken down a peg or two.”

“ _Hardison,_ ” Eliot growls. 

“He’s right,” Parker chimes in, “that woman is _insufferable_!”

“Watchin’ you insult her was _priceless!_ Seriously, man, Imma have to burn that footage to my laptop, break it out whenever I need a laugh--“

“I will _snap_ you,” Eliot tells him.

“No you won’t,” Hardison laughs. 

“Keep talkin’, little man, see what happens,” Eliot growls.

“Li- _little_?! Man, have you seen yourself recently?”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know what it means!” Hardison rolls his eyes, before adding, in an undertone, “shorty.”

“ _What_ did you just call me?”

“You heard me--“

“I’m gonna punch you,” Eliot tells him, smiling sweetly as he launches himself at Hardison. 

“Enough!” Nate interrupts, placing a placating hand on Eliot’s arm, “no one’s punching anyone! Eliot, _sit down_.” He gives Eliot’s arm a tug before turning to Hardison. “Hardison, stop winding Eliot up.”

“Yes, _dad,”_ Hardison snickers.

“We still need to figure out how we’re going to play this now,” Sophie interrupts before anyone can start bickering again. “I’m sure if Eliot grovels hard enough we can make this work, he can be _very_ charming,” Sophie says, and Eliot quirks his eyebrow suggestively at her, earning himself a rather flirtatious smile. 

“No,” Nate says slowly, “no. If we can’t use her liking you to motivate her, we’ll use her dislike instead.” Nate pauses, considering this suggestion before nodding, apparently satisfied with it.

“Yeah. Okay. Parker, I’m sending you in as the roper instead of Eliot. Your job’s gonna be to bond with her. Eliot, your job is to be an ass.”

“Noooo,” Parker says, eyes wide, frantically shaking her head. “Nuh-uh! Send Sophie instead!”

“Sophie’s part is too important to reassign, it has to be you,” Nate tells her patiently.

Parker shakes her head even more adamantly. “I can’t bond with her, no, nuh-uh, nope. I hate the lady. I’ll be even worse than Eliot. How am I supposed to bond with her?”

“You’ll be fine,” Hardison laughs, “Sophie’ll walk you through it.” 

Eliot sighs, knocking back the rest of his drink as Hardison and Parker dissolve into their weird brand of “flirting,” and smiles faintly into his glass. 

 

“I need to know where we stand.”

That bar’s empty save for Nate, who, to Eliot’s surprise, doesn’t even flinch realizing Eliot’s standing directly behind him. 

“Oh, good,” Nate says mildly. “I was hoping to talk to you. Join me?”

Eliot grunts and takes a seat next to Nate. 

“You want a drink?”

“No,” Eliot tells him and Nate shrugs nonchalantly. 

“Suit yourself.” Nate falls silent after that for a while, contemplating his glass before saying, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“It weren’t your concern,” Eliot says. 

“It-it wasn’t my--? Eliot, of _course_ it was my _concern_! You’re part of my crew! I can’t do what I do if I don’t have all the facts.”

Eliot sighs. “It don’t effect my job, Nate, you know that.”

“Of course it does, Eliot,” Nate says incredulously.

“No!” Eliot slams a hand into the bar, shooting to his feet before he really realizes what he’s doing.

“Seriously?” Nate throws his hands in the air. “I tell Parker, “it’s okay, nothing’s changed. I know it doesn’t effect your job. Don’t worry about it!” and she yells at me, I tell you the opposite and _you_ yell at me!” 

“I--“ Eliot stutters, “you talked to Parker?” 

“Yeah,” Nate nods. “Gave me a nice speech about this being how her brain works and her brain being responsible for everything that she is.” Nate shrugs vaguely, “it was very… _Parker_.”

“I ain’t Parker,” Eliot growls. “We ain’t exactly had the same experiences with this.”

“Yeah,” Nate nods, “I’m starting to get that.”

There’s silence for a moment, before Eliot sighs and slumps back into his chair. 

“You never answered my question, Nate,” Eliot tells him wearily. 

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On you,” Nate says, turning to pin Eliot with his gaze which Eliot holds steadily. 

Nate chuckles softly before saying, “I know you, Eliot, I know you like to deal with things by yourself. You want me to leave it alone, I will--“

“I want you to leave it alone.”

“Alright,” Nate says, “you ever change your mind…” 

Eliot nods and Nate smiles, ever so slightly.

“I’m headin’ out,” Eliot tells him, combing his bangs out of his eyes and getting up. 

“Night,” Nate calls after him, and he raises a hand as he leaves.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update's a little shorter than the last and I wrote most of it on my Ipad because we were on holiday so, yeah if you see any mistakes lemme know (Ipad keyboards + coordination disorders = so many fucking typos!)

"What are you doing?” Nate asks.

Eliot starts, straightening and clasping his hands behind his back, standing at attention. 

"Nothin'," he says. What he’d really been doing was playing with the beads on one of his bracelets, rolling the little metal ball between his fingers absently. He’s lucky it’s Nate and not one of the many other masters he’s served that noticed him spacing out like that. "You ready to go?"

 

"Mmmmm," Nate frowns, scanning the parking garage pensively. "Not yet, I think we'll let them stew a little longer."  
Eliot grunts an affirmative and turns away from Nate to scan the area. There's no real threat, but old habits die hard.   
It actually takes Eliot a while to notice Nate's watching him; his focus is on watching the exits more than his boss. 

"What?" he growls, scowling at Nate.

"Nothing," Nate says easily. 

"Nate."

Nate makes an exaggerated shrugging gesture. "I was thinking," he says, "I'm a thinker, it's what I do."

"Thinkin' about what?"

"About you," he says, "and about Parker."

"Care to elaborate?" 

Nate clears his throat, gaze roaming around the parking garage they're standing in. Leaning easily against Eliot's car he says, "when Parker first told me she, ah, she was autistic, she said that she hides it. When she can. I think you do, too." 

"Seem to recall tellin' you to leave to leave that alone," Eliot says mildly.

"Seem to recall you telling me to elaborate, too." 

"Clearly that was a mistake," Eliot mutters.

"You do though, don't you?"

"Yeah, Nate, I do. You got any more stupid questions?"

"Why?" Nate asks. "Wh-why hide something I already know?"

Eliot sighs, combing his fingers through his hair and fixing his gaze on Nate. 

"I don't need to tell you that you, the others, you're not just my crew. You're my family."

Nate nods. 

"But you're also my boss, Nate," Eliot says, " that means gotta maintain a certain level of professionalism with you."

"A-and, and what? You, you think being autistic's "unprofessional"?" 

"No," Eliot says, keeping his voice calm, even if the rest of him isn't. "But I think my job's a whole lot easier when I can avoid bein' rude. Or bein' weird," he adds with a slightly forced laugh.   
Nate watches him steadily, his quiet curiosity boring into Eliot. He doesn’t ask, and Eliot knows he won’t, he’ll just keep staring at Eliot with that soul-piercing gaze until Eliot feels compelled to tell him everything anyway.

“No offense, Nate, but my bosses knowing about this ain’t exactly worked out well for me.”

"Alright," Nate says. "Yeah, I-I get why you didn't tell me. And uh, I'm sorry, by the way, that you didn't get to make that choice." Nate pauses briefly and Eliot nods his acknowledgment. "But why hide now? Why try to hide something I already know?"

"There's a difference 'tween knowing and seeing it, Nate." 

Nate nods thoughtfully. "You don't mind Hardison seeing," he says. It doesn't sound like an accusation.

"No, but he ain't my boss,” Eliot sighs, leaning back against the support beam he’s standing next to, tipping his gaze to the ceiling. “You wanna know the truth, Nate? Really.”

“I do.”

Eliot takes a breath and nods. He’s never been afraid of telling Nate things the way they are, even if he knows Nate won’t like it, _especially_ if he knows Nate won’t like it. 

“Last guy I worked for who knew about this, he used it. He was good at pushin’ people’s buttons, gettin’ them to do what he wanted them to, an’ we both know the reason you’re so good at what you do is ‘cuz you know how to play people. Ain’t just the marks neither; you know how to play us, you know how to get us to do exactly what you need us to do. An’ we all put up with it ‘cuz you’re so damn good at it, but we both know sometimes you take it too far.”

Nate nods, slowly. “Do you trust me, Eliot?” he asks. 

“Sometimes,” he says.

“I guess I deserve that,” Nate nods, pushing himself off the car and starting to walk towards the exit. “But, uh, I-I don’t, you know,” Nate says, stopping dead. “I don’t _make_ them do things, I don’t. Sometimes, I know you can do things before you know that, and sometimes, you need a little, ah, _push_ to… Unlock that potential, so that’s what I do, I uh- I push, and sometimes that gets messy, sometimes it makes them, you, hate me. Sometimes I take it too far, but I don’t _make_ anyone do anything. So uh,” Nate shrugs. “Well, there’s that.”

With that Nate turns, sharply on his heels and starts walking towards the exit again. “Anyway, we’ve got a mark to meet.”

Eliot blinks, his head reeling slightly at the abrupt change of direction. “Wait!” 

He doesn’t mean to say it but Nate has just spent the last five minutes complaining about him hiding; maybe it’d do him good to be reminded that Eliot’s autistic even when it’s inconvenient.   
Eliot’s not sure if he’s hoping to spite Nate, to prove he really _doesn’t_ want Eliot to stop hiding, or if he’s hoping that Nate will prove _him_ wrong. Maybe both. 

“Would be real helpful,” Eliot says slowly, “if you didn’t keep switchin’ gears like that.”

“You need a minute?” Nate asks, his eyes narrowed. 

Eliot combs his hands through his hair and takes a breath, mentally preparing himself for the con. He runs the twined leather around his wrist through his fingers again, letting the motion calm him. 

Nate waits patiently by the elevator until Eliot’s done putting himself back together. He nods curtly as he walks over, hitting the button to open the doors and Eliot follows him in, taking his customary position at Nate's side, setting his shoulders and slipping into character. He keeps on rolling the little bead between his fingers, though. 

Nate doesn’t comment, but Eliot swears he sees him smile faintly before he steps out of the elevator and into his current persona.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Eliot's aforementioned boss was Moreau, _hopefully_ that's obvious even though its not explicitly stated but just in case it isn't.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to have this chapter be the last but it turns out I've got too much to say to fit it into one and it's been ages since I updated but yeah, hopefully next chapter will be the last. 
> 
> Also, trigger warning for discussions of abuse.

The first thing Hardison did when Parker told him she was autistic was research. Google is a beautiful thing and Hardison read everything he could get his metaphorical hands on and then some. The more he read, the more of it he saw in Parker. Some of it he’d seen before; this was just a new layer, an added context; some of it he was only seeing now. Watching Parker drop her act, stop trying to be something she wasn’t was spectacular. He loved watching her uncurl, unfolding before him like an especially intricate strand of code. He couldn’t help but feel a little bit blessed that he got a front row seat to the glory that is Parker unbridled. He did his best to earn it, reading, learning, listening. He found a website full of stim toys on the internet and bought her everything he thought she’d even be vaguely interested in. She squealed excitedly and rocked back on her heels, flapping her hands with delight when she unwrapped them and Hardison beamed. 

When he finds out about Eliot it throws him, a little, because he did _not_ see that coming. Parker doesn’t seem surprised, but then again, very little surprises Parker. Hardison figures pretty quickly that he shouldn’t be surprised either. Eliot’s not Parker, and just because they share a brain type doesn’t mean they’re any more alike than him and Nate, and besides, Hardison knows for a fact that the rest of the team only see a fraction of that side of Parker; Eliot’s just better at hiding it. 

He expects it to be the same with Eliot as it is with Parker though, or at least similar, the gradual relaxation, the hesitant dropping of pretenses. Parker stopped making eye contact first; well, Parker never _really_ made eye contact to begin with, but she stopped trying to pretend she did first. She still does with the others, Hardison notes, always fixing her gaze somewhere on their faces, never their eyes but somewhere close enough that it’s hard to notice at a glance. She doesn’t with him, though, or Eliot. Conversations with them are held staring out of windows or examining walls and floors and tables and people. Hardison loves it, he knows it means she comfortable, relaxed, she trusts him enough to know he won’t think her rude for breaking arbitrary social rules. 

Eliot, however, meets his gaze as steadily as the day they met, and Hardison never once sees him stim. He loves to watch Parker stim, it looks fun. He wonders sometimes what it’d be like to join her, and sure, they talk about touch and Eliot never objects to Parker telling Hardison when Eliot’s not up for talking, but he never offers the information himself. In short, nothing much really changes, except that Eliot stops freezing up when Hardison touches him, which, yeah, Hardison would literally pay to never see Eliot’s face do that again. But to be honest, Hardison’s not convinced the touch thing is even an autism thing, not entirely anyway. 

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Parker announces. She’s perched on the windowsill, staring out at the Boston skyline stretched out below. 

Hardison sighs. “Sorry.”

“Whatcha thinking about?”

“Eliot.”

Parker makes a humming noise in the back of her throat that means, “go on.”

“I dunno,” Hardison says, “I just, thought something would change, you know, now we all know he autistic but nothin’ has. He’s still hiding.”

Parker shakes her head. “He’s not, not really, he just... doesn’t know how not to?” 

“…Huh?” Hardison says, oh-so-eloquently. 

Parker sighs, “it’s like how I had to learn how to be a person again when I joined the team--”

“Parker, you were _always_ a person!” Hardison yelps.

Parker waves her hand dismissively, “I know _that_ ,” she says, like he’s being dim to suggest otherwise, “but I had to learn how to do people stuff, like making friends or talking to people or having _feelings_ all over again because…” Parker trails off, her head bobbing to the side, he can’t see her expression because she’s still facing the window, but he imagines her eyebrows knitting together, “because I learned early on that those things meant danger, that people hurt you and feelings are bad and friends are a weakness.” She rocks slightly as she talks, back and forth, her forehead nearly touching the glass; it’s not happy rocking.

Hardison grits his teeth, trying to push down the desire to track down every single person who’s ever hurt her and make them pay, and focus instead on what’s in front of him. 

“It wasn’t till I found you,” Parker starts up again, “or till you found me, or, Nate found me, _someone_ found me--“

“Babe,” Hardison says, pulling her gently back on track. 

“--It wasn’t till I felt _safe_ that I could start to learn how to again,” she shrugs languidly. “It’s like that for Eliot, too, I think.”

“So, what, you think Eliot doesn’t feel _safe_ letting us see him being… _him?”_

“Mmmm,” Parker says, “yes and no. I think Eliot’s so used to it not feeling safe he’s forgotten it can be. Eliot was in the army for _years_ after he found out. He spent that time knowing if he ever let anyone see it’d be the end of his career, and after the army, well, Eliot would’ve been lucky if his career was the only thing ended if it got out. He wasn’t like me, I worked alone, it let me... be myself in a way I didn’t think I could be with a team.”

“Eliot worked alone too, we all did.”

“Eliot worked for people though. I never did, except maybe Archie, but Eliot relied on people hiring him to get his jobs.”

“You think he was worried if anyone found out he’d stop getting hired?”

“He was probably _right_ ,” Parker says. “And he went through mainstream school.”

“Yeah, but I thought he said no one noticed?”

“He said no one _diagnosed_ him. Trust me, people noticed. Eliot probably started hiding it to escape kids being awful, and now he’s been doing it so long he doesn’t even know he’s doing it half the time, let alone how to _not._ ”

Hardison balks at that, because the idea of anyone picking on Eliot is ridiculous, except: _“Bein’ bullied ain’t an excuse to go propping up dictators,” “Look at Hardison, he got bullied and he’s not a criminal._ ” Eliot’s voice floats back to him sharp and angry and just a little bit brittle. He’d wondered why Eliot had taken that job so personally. Yeah, okay, so maybe it’s not that ridiculous. 

“Damn,” Hardison breaths, “what do we do?”

Parker hums pensively. “ _You_ don’t do anything, except what you’re already doing.”

“What are you gonna do?”

Parker hums again. “I have an idea,” she says. She doesn’t elaborate. 

 

“Oh, _oh!_ ” Parker flaps, pointing excitedly at a picture of a new type of safe. She’s stretched out over the table on her stomach, her feet in the air, leafing through a home security magazine. 

“What you got there, girl?” Hardison asks Parker’s face lights up as she obligingly begins telling him about the safe, making him grin. 

From across the room Eliot rolls his eyes affectionately. “Parker, get your ass off the furniture!” he drawls. 

Parker sticks her tongue out at him playfully.   
Hardison had rigged all of his game consoles to the TV setup the first opportunity he got, and Eliot’s currently lounging on the sofa, having commandeered Hardison’s old GameCube ( _it’s a classic, okay!_ ), which he’s using to play MarioKart, of all things.   
Hardison’s sitting at the table with Parker, half talking to her, half hacking their next mark. Okay, he’s mostly talking to her. Hardison could listen to Parker talk about safes for, well, forever. Even if he doesn’t understand half of what she’s telling him. 

“There’s something _wrong_ with you” Eliot calls, his voice deep and affectionate. 

“Shush!” Parker says, waving a hand at him. “I’m talking about my _thing_!” 

Eliot tips his head back on the sofa and stares at her, his expression somewhere between confusion, exasperation and amusement (he also somehow manages to keep on playing even though he’s not even looking at the damn screen which, Hardison thinks, is just plain unfair.)

“By thing she means special interest,” Hardison supplies, because Parker has a tendency to forget that other people can’t read her mind. 

Eliot blinks, and then tips his head back and _laughs_ and Hardison’s only a little triumphant when this causes his cart to veer off track and land headfirst in a pool of lava. “Of _course_ Parker’s special interest is _home security_! I shoulda seen that comin’, shouldn’t I have?”

“Mm-hmmm,” Parker nods, not looking up from her magazine. 

Eliot laughs softly, shaking his head and he turns his attention back to not losing miserably at a kids game.

“Hey,” Parker says, after a moment, “what’s yours?”

“What’s my _what_?” Eliot growls, although Hardison’s pretty sure he’s more angry at the fact he’s coming 8th than he is about Parker’s question.

“Your special interest, silly!”

Eliot cusses as his cart swerves, almost toppling into a river. 

“Eliot?” Hardison asks.

“I ain’t got one,” he snaps, and now he’s definitely annoyed with the question rather than the game. 

“Oh,” Parker says. “Hey, you want a rematch! I bet I beat you again!” 

Eliot enthusiastically accepts Parker’s change of subject by yelling, “it doesn’t count as a victory when you have to cheat to get it!”

“It’s not _cheating_ Eliot, it’s called _using your initiative_ ,” Parker shoots back indignantly. 

 

“You gotta slice em’, like this,” Eliot plucks a tomato from the side and places it on the chopping board. He cuts it neatly in half, and Hardison watches, mesmerized, as he beings to slice it into wafer-thin slices. 

“Some people think you should dice ‘em,’” Eliot says, turning towards the stove to stir more cheese into his sauce. 

Hardison bites back a grin. He loves it when Eliot cooks, partly because it is inevitably the best thing he’s ever tasted, but also because he knows Eliot loves it. Maybe Hardison’s a sap, but he likes to see his friends happy.   
Hardison’s sitting at the the end of the breakfast bar, fiddling with his phone. Parker’s sitting on the worktop on the other side of the stove, playing with a tangle toy and Eliot’s in the middle, slicing vegetables by the stove.   
Eliot’s animatedly telling them about the pros and cons of various methods of chopping tomatoes. Hardison would be worried about the way he’s using the knife to gesture if he didn’t know Eliot so well. Parker suddenly gasps and points dramatically at Eliot. 

“What?” Eliot says, his gaze swinging between Parker and Hardison, “ _what_?”

“ _We found your thing!_ ” Parker exclaims. 

“What?” Eliot asks, a little hopelessly.

“Your _thing!_ ” Parker repeats. “It’s cooking!”

“That ain’t--“ Eliot starts. 

“Nah man, she’s right!” Hardison laughs, “ _damn_ that really shoulda been obvious!”

“No, that-that ain’t…” Eliot stares helplessly between them. Parker nods, her face comically apologetic. “You know I’m right,” it says. 

“Mmm-hmm!” Hardison says, nodding along.

“I--” Eliot falters and blinks twice, his shoulders dropping with a huff. “ _Damn!_ ”

“Yeah baby!” Hardison whoops. “C’mon, tell me about tomatoes!”

Eliot rolls his eyes, turning back to his sauce. “You’re an idiot,” he growls, but obligingly goes back to talking about knife techniques.   
Hardison catches Parker’s eyes and the two of them grin at each other. Parker sways happily and Hardison leans back and focuses on Eliot, grin still lighting his face.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, this is not the last chapter.

It doesn’t take Hardison long to figure out Parker’s plan to remind Eliot how to be autistic, mostly because she’s completely unsubtle about it. He’s pretty sure that Eliot must’ve figured out what she’s doing too, but wisely Parker starts by simply prompting Eliot to tell her about food, and Eliot would never miss an opportunity to talk about food, even if he’s well aware that Parker’s playing him. 

Hardison follows her lead; he enjoys listening to Eliot infodump as much as he does listening to Parker, and besides, the man really is an excellent chef; he’s not going to complain if Eliot wants to impart that knowledge onto him. 

It actually takes Hardison a while to notice anything changing. After all, he’s been listening to Eliot infodump about food for long before either of them realized it. They’re sitting at their table in the mostly empty bar, enjoying the end of a successful con. Nate and Sophie are sitting close, their heads bowed together, their conversation clearly private. Parker disappeared at the end of the con and has yet to reappear, leaving Hardison and Eliot to their own devices, an opportunity they’re mostly using to drink one too many shots. Eliot’s leaning forward in his chair, gesturing widely, his expression open and relaxed and his gaze roaming freely around the room when Hardison realizes he can’t actually remember the last time Eliot looked at _him._

After that it gets more obvious, especially when it’s just the three of them, and Hardison finds himself having full conversations without either of them really looking at him. Hardison bites back a grin as Eliot stares over his shoulder and Parker’s gaze dutifully follows the shiniest object around the room, or as Eliot’s gaze methodically scans the room, and Parker’s flits from here to there, her attention caught by things Hardison doesn’t see. 

Eliot still doesn’t stim though, not the way Parker does. “Everyone’s different,” she says, when he brings it up. 

“I know babe, but,“ Hardison sighs,”I just…”

“I know,” Parker nods. She’s sitting on the floor, her head resting on the couch cushion, picking and re-locking a padlock over and over, eliciting a soft, rhythmic clicking from the mechanism. “Ohh!” She says, her eyes lighting up, “we should buy Eliot a stim toy!”

“Uh,” Hardison falters. “I don’t think Eliot’s gonna appreciate that, babe,” he says gently.

Parker pouts. “Maybe not like mine,” she admits, “but what about jewellery?”

“Huh!” Hardison blinks. He’d forgotten the site he brought Parker’s stuff from did jewellery too, and while Eliot probably wouldn’t appreciate a traditional stim toy his fondness for excessive jewellery is pretty obvious. 

They end up buying him a bracelet. It’s pretty similar to a lot of the ones he already owns. It’s made out of braided leather with little metal beads designed to spin. Parker picks out another; this one’s made entirely of metal and sort of looks like a bike chain. Hardison’s not entirely sure what you’re meant to do with it but Parker’s pretty adamant it’ll be great to fiddle with.   
He lets Parker present them to Eliot, given that it was her idea, a decision he immediately regrets because her method of delivery is lobbing the parcel at his head with a cheerful “catch!”

“What the _fuck?_ ” Eliot growls, snatching the little package out of the air and glaring at Parker. 

“Open it!” she says. 

Eliot takes a second to eye her and then the parcel suspiciously. “It ain’t gonna explode, right?”

“No!”

Looking somewhat unconvinced, Eliot sets it down on the counter and gently unwraps it. 

“Huh…” Eliot says, eyebrows furrowing in surprise as the contents slide onto the table top. “Parker… what?” 

“Here.” Parker springs up and bounces over to Eliot. “Look--” she takes the leather bracelet off him and starts to spin the beads. “--you can fiddle with it!” 

“Huh…” Eliot says again, picking up the bracelet still on the table and running the chain through his fingers. “Thanks, Parker,” Eliot says. He still looks somewhat baffled but he also looks genuinely grateful so Hardison considers this a success. Parker does too, judging by the grin on her face. 

“We did good?” she asks. 

“Yeah, Parker,” Eliot chuckles, “you did good. What’d I do to deserve these anyway?”

“Isn’t this what friends do?” Parker asks innocently. 

Eliot just cocks an eyebrow at her. Shrugging, she says, “it was Hardison’s idea.”

Hardison shrugs. “I remembered how much Parker liked all those stim toys I brought her an’ we figured they weren’t really your thing so…”

“We brought you these instead!”

Eliot blinks. Hardison watches as several different emotions flicker across his face, mostly surprise, but the corners of his mouth tug up, just for a second.   
Before Eliot can figure out how to respond the door to the apartment bangs open and Nate strides in. “Suit up guys, we’ve got a job!” he announces, and Eliot hastily shoves the bracelets into his pocket. 

The next time Hardison sees them they’re around Eliot’s wrist. He watches his friend spinning one of the little beads and grins. His grin widens when Eliot glances up at him and flashes him a smile. 

 

“What do you think, Eliot?” Sophie asks pointedly. Eliot’s gaze snaps from the pub’s doorway to her. She’s got an expectant look on her face, except Eliot doesn’t know what it is that she expects. 

Eliot blinks at her for a minute, trying to distinguish her expression. He comes up empty, there’s only so long he can stare blankly at Sophie before it get’s weird, or weirder, so shrugging, he goes with his default option of “answer the question and let the other person assume you ignored the subtext on purpose.” 

“Sounds good to me.”

“You don’t have anything to add?” Sophie probes. 

“No.” Eliot growls, eyebrows furrowing. He scans the bar again, his gaze bouncing from person to person. He likes McRory’s, he really does; he just wishes Nate would stop trying to plan cons when it’s so fucking noisy. All the formal planning is done in the back room, but they’re still debating taking this job, so for the time being they’re crowded around their table in the main room. 

“Eliot?” Sophie asks, “are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

From her other side Nate attempts to draw the conversation back to their potential mark. Sophie pointedly ignores him, although Eliot’s aware of Hardison’s voice in the background; apparently Nate managed to get _one_ of them back on task. 

“Look at me,” Sophie says, leaning forwards and reaching a hand towards his arm. 

“Don’t!” Batting her hand away, Eliot shoots backwards, making his chair screech painfully against the floor. He clamps a hand against his ear, the other held out to ward off unwanted hands. 

“Eliot, sweetie, it’s alright.” Even Eliot recognizes Sophie’s tone as “concerned.” He lets out a faint growl; he doesn’t know what Sophie _thinks_ is going on but he’s pretty sure she’s wrong and he has a horrible feeling she’s going to try and fix it by touching him. 

“Oh--no, Sophie!” Suddenly Hardison’s standing between them. “Hey man, you okay?” He doesn’t attempt to touch Eliot, or move closer. Eliot considers it, for a moment and then nods.   
“You wanna move this upstairs,” he asks, “or out the back?”

Eliot rocks back on his heels, absently spinning the beads on his wrist. Twisting away from Hardison, he nods again. 

“Right,” Nate says, resuming control of the situation. “We’re taking this job, meeting’s over.”

“Eliot--“ Sophie starts, trying to move around Hardison. 

“We’re going upstairs,” Parker announces, bouncing off her chair and shoving a hand towards him. “Come on, Eliot,” she says. 

Eliot glances briefly at Nate and Sophie; she’s stepping towards him and he turns in time to see Nate lay a hand on her arm and shake his head. Eliot lets out a breath, and takes Parker’s hand. 

 

The three of them are curled up on the sofa watching one of Hardison’s dumb movies. Eliot uses the term _watching_ lightly; Hardison’s giving a running commentary of the film, Eliot’s loudly complaining about the inaccuracy of the fight scenes and Parker keeps laughing hysterically at parts which are not meant to be funny. 

“Eliot,” Sophie calls, floating towards the kitchen.

Eliot sighs and pats Parker’s legs to get her to move them off him. She’s stretched out over the sofa, her head in Hardison’s lap and her feet in Eliot’s. Pouting, she lifts them up enough for Eliot to extract himself. 

“Sophie.”

“Be a dear and pass me the milk,” Sophie says, refilling the kettle and setting it to boil. Eliot sighs, but passes her the milk nonetheless. 

“Sophie,” he says again, hoping to nudge her into getting to the point.

“Is everything alright, sweetie?” Evidently she got the message. 

“I’m fine, Sophie.”

“You know you can talk to me,” she says gently. 

Eliot sighs. “Yeah Soph, I know. Ain’t nothin’ to talk about, though.”

“Then what happened back there?”

“What happened was that y’all dragged two autistics into a noisy bar an’ tried to plan a con there,” Eliot huffs. 

“Oh,” Sophie says.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, again tw for self injurious meltdowns and last chapter is halfway done so, should be up soon :)

The move to Portland really fucks Eliot up. The move to Boston had fucked him up too, but they’d been at the bar a hell of a lot longer than they’d been at the offices.  
It’s okay at first; Nate throws them straight into their next con and Eliot doesn’t have time to be bothered by it, and it isn’t until the con’s over and everyone’s focusing on setting up some semblance of a life in Portland that Eliot is struck by how _wrong_ this all is. 

He spent far too long in the military to really be “disorganized;” in fact, out of all of them he’s probably the most organized. Unfortunately, however, Eliot’s organization relies on order and routine, neither of which involves suddenly up and moving his entire life to a damn pub in _Portland_ with next to no prior warning. 

Which is why Eliot finds himself standing alone in the middle of the brew pub’s back room, hands fisted in his hair, biting back the urge to punch something over a fucking key.

He had it a second ago, he knows he did. But where it is _now_ is lost on him. 

Eliot growls, low in his throat and tugs at his hair in frustration, rocking back on his heels in an attempt to calm down. So, naturally, this is the moment Nate and Hardison choose to reappear. He hears them before they see him but there’s nothing he can really do about it. 

“Eliot?” Nate’s voice is low and tinged with concern. 

Instead of responding, Eliot curls in on himself tighter. 

“Hey, buddy, you ok?” Hardison asks. 

Eliot spares a second to glare at him and Hardison winces. “Okay, stupid question,” he says, “what can I do?”

Eliot growls and slams the heel of his hand into the side of his head and then he does it again and again and again. He’s aware of Nate yelping something in alarm and of Hardison talking, he thinks to Nate. 

“Hey, El,” Hardison says, edging closer, “can you talk?”

“…Sorta,” Eliot stills, letting Hardison anchor him. 

“Alright, we can work with that,” he says, “wha’s goin’ on?”

“S’stupid.’

“El.”

“Lost my keys,” Eliot snaps. 

There’s a moment’s silence before Nate says, “you, uh, you want us to look for it?”

Eliot shakes his head. 

“You wanna go watch a movie?”

“Yeah.”

Hardison grins and somewhat hesitantly holds his hand out. It takes Eliot a second to realize he’s copying the gesture from Parker. Eliot considers it for a moment, before reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Hardison’s wrist. 

So Eliot finds himself tucked between Parker, who promptly dropped from the ceiling on their arrival, and Hardison, on the living room’s slightly beat up couch. Eliot’s not even entirely sure what they’re watching--something dumb, with lots of yelling and explosions--but it’s amusing and he can tell the others are enjoying it. So he leans back and goads Hardison into an argument and feels the tension bleeding from his bones. 

Hardison laughs lazily at something Parker says and, reaching around Eliot, throws an arm around her shoulders. Parker responds by pushing herself closer to Hardison, effectively shoving Eliot into him.

“Parker,” Eliot growls as his shoulder connects with Hardison’s but he doesn’t move. Hardison, on the other hand shifts, pulling his arm around both their shoulders, his hand resting on Parker, who reaches up and laces their fingers. 

“Y’all know I can move, right?” Eliot offers, somewhat awkwardly.

“Nope,” Parker says, flattening herself against him. 

“… Dammit Parker,” Eliot grumbles. 

“Ssssshhhh!” Hardison hisses, elbowing him in the ribs. “We’re getting to the _good_ bit!”

 

Eliot’s standing the brew pub’s kitchen. It’s late and the downstairs is empty, barring him and Nate. He’s working on attempting to salvage Hardison’s menu and Nate is, well, Eliot’s not entirely sure. He’s sitting at the bar with his laptop in front of him doing god-only-knows-what; why he couldn’t do that upstairs, Eliot has no idea. Well, no, actually, _that’s_ probably because Hardison decided that now was the perfect time to marathon _The Walking Dead_. Eliot had watched about five seconds of if before coming to the conclusion that it has _far_ too many guns and excusing himself. 

The menu really _does_ need working on, though. Hardison’s is abysmal, and while he maintains this was a fucking stupid idea and the pub will probably go bust within a week of opening, Eliot’s wanted a restaurant for _years_ and he’s smart enough to realize this is probably the closest he’s ever gonna get. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t cling to it with everything he’s got. He’s actually mostly finished with the menu, but there’s a couple of recipes he’s still tweaking. He’s halfway through the prep for one such recipe when he realizes they’re missing the key ingredient. 

It’s not a big deal, not really, he could easily turn the ingredients he’s already got into one of the other recipes he wants to play with, but it’s not what he planned.   
Eliot growls faintly, feeling the wrongness of it crawling up his spine, his frustration rising. He already knows where this is heading, which, unfortunately, only makes it worse.   
Eliot tips his head back, closing his eyes and focusing on breathing. It doesn’t work. Clamping his fists over his ears Eliot rocks back on his heels fighting the urge to smack himself in the head. 

“Oh shi- Eliot!”

Eliot had actually forgotten Nate was in the room and his voice startles him. His tone startles him even more. It’s not the first time Nate’s seen this; there’s no reason for him to sound so alarmed--oh, right. Eliot’s holding a knife, the handle clenched in his fist, meaning the flat of the blade’s now parallel with his head. 

He’s not going to hurt himself, or anyone else for that matter; he still has enough control to not inadvertently stab someone, but Nate’s alarm makes a lot more sense now. 

“Eliot.” Nate’s voice has that silky-smooth fake calm to it which he usually reserves for talking people out of shooting him. “El- hey,” Nate takes a step towards him and Eliot shrinks back. 

“Hey, look, I’m not, I’m not coming any closer okay, I’m- I’m not going to touch you. Okay, Eliot?” He pauses then, waiting until Eliot nods. “But I’m gonna need you to give me that, okay?”

Instead of replying, Eliot, bringing his hand away from his head, flips the knife in one smooth, practiced motion so he’s holding it by the blade, the handle pointed at Nate. 

“Ah-“ Nate falters, “right, okay, yeah, that works.” Stepping forward, he takes it from Eliot and sets it on the counter. 

Eliot’s last strands of control slip away and he slams his fist into the side of his head. He’s pretty sure he hears Nate wince, but he steps away and doesn’t attempt to interfere.

 

“So,” Nate says, some time later as Eliot slides a plate of Spaghetti Bolognese towards him. It’s one of the recipes he’s been meaning to modify before they open; it’s already pretty damn good, but Eliot’s sure he can get it to taste better. Hopefully he already has, although even after he’d managed to pull himself together enough to actually cook he’d still been something of a mess. 

“We should talk,” Nate says. 

Eliot groans. “Can’t you just shut up and eat the damn pasta?” 

“I could,” Nate says, picking up the fork. 

They eat in silence for a while, Eliot breaks it. Clearing his throat, he says, “you know I wasn’t gonna hurt anyone, includin’ myself, right?”

Nate sighs. “I knew you weren’t gonna hurt anyone _intentionally_ ,” he says, “but no, Eliot, I didn’t know that.”

Eliot sighs. Nate’s right, he knows, but still. 

“Should I have done something different?”

“…. no,” Eliot admits. 

Nate nods, returning his attention to the food.

“You know, that seems to be happening a lot, recently,” Nate says. 

Eliot sighs again, he’d been wondering when one of them would bring that up. 

“S’just, a lot to get used to, tha’s all,” Eliot shrugs. “I’ll be alright. We were in Boston a long time, kinda got used to it.” 

Nate nods. “It’s a big change for all of us,” he says, “guess it’s harder for you, though.”

Eliot shrugs. “Guess it is,” he says. “I just need some time, Nate, I’ll get used to it. Meantime, you’re jus gonna have to be patient.”

Nate nods and quietly clears away his plate and gathers his things. He’s halfway across the room when he stops. 

“You, ah… you know, you’ve got all the time, and uh, anything else you need, right?”

Eliot smiles down at the bar in front of him, his voice low and soft, “thanks, Nate.” 

 

The five of them settle in slowly.  
Gradually Eliot builds himself a new routine. Nate gets word out about their group and the services they offer and they start taking on more and more clients. Sophie buys a theatre; Parker spends a week straight rappelling from buildings to “familiarize herself with the area”; _somehow_ Eliot and Hardison get the pub up and running and it doesn’t go bust in the first week. 

Things don’t exactly go back to normal, but, they find themselves a new normal, and if Eliot finds it increasingly harder to keep up his pretense of normality, well, Eliot thinks he can live with that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it guys! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, I truly hope you've enjoyed this as much as I have, and as a token of my appreciation, please accept this shameless fluff!
> 
> I also want to say a huge thank you to beckettemory for Beta'ing this fic for me! <3

Hardison’s not exactly surprised to walk into the little “employee only” kitchen at 9:15 on a Sunday morning to find Eliot. 

It’s not a proper kitchen, it’s basically just an old store closet someone shoved a countertop stove, microwave and mini-fridge in. Which Hardison thinks is fair enough, given it’s in an apartment above a restaurant. 

Eliot, of course, still manages to make restaurant quality food in it. 

He’s standing with his back to Hardison, wearing a pair of grey sweats, slung low over his hips and a faded black tee-shirt, his hair pulled up in a messy knot. In other words, he looks like he just rolled out of bed. Which, frankly, he probably _did_ ; after Nate and Sophie moved out, Hardison had claimed the master bedroom as his own, leaving the other spare. Six months later and Eliot’s basically moved in. 

Hardison pauses in the doorway, trying to gauge if Eliot’s noticed him or not. It’s basically impossible to sneak up on him, unless you’re Parker, but that doesn’t stop Hardison from trying.  
He thinks maybe, _just_ maybe he might actually have succeeded this time. Eliot confirms this by shifting slightly to adjust the stove temperature and starting to sing softly as he cooks.

 

_“I’ve seen love go by my door,_  
_it’s never been this close before,_  
_never been so easy or so slow,_  
_I’ve been shootin’ in the dark too long,_  
_when somethin’s not right it’s wrong_  
_yer gonna make me lonesome when you go,”_

Eliot’s voice is low and a little scratchy, his accent twanging just a little more than usual. Hardison forgets sometimes just how good Eliot actually is at singing. 

_“You could make me cry if you don't know_  
_Can't remember what I was thinking of_  
_You might be spoiling me too much love_  
_Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go,_  
_Purple clover, Queen Anne lace,_  
_Crimson hair across your face_  
_You could make me cry if you don't know-”_

Eliot breaks off, his whole body going still, and Hardison knows he’s busted. 

“You plannin’ on standin’ there all day or what?”

“Well, ya know, I _was_ enjoyin’ the show,” he says. Eliot responds by giving him the finger.  
Rolling his eyes, Hardison moves into the little kitchen, heading pointedly for the coffee. 

“Hey.” Eliot shoulder checks him gently when he gets close enough. “Gimme a refill.”

Hardison rolls his eyes. “Get your own damn refill,” he mutters, grabbing Eliot’s cup and filling it before shoving it back at him.  
Eliot grunts without looking up from the bacon he’s frying, which Hardison takes as a “thank you.”

_“Situations have ended sad_  
_Relationship have all been bad_  
_Mine've been like Verlaine's and Rimbaud_  
_But there's no way I can compare_  
_All those scenes to this affair_  
_Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.” ___

Eliot’s voice is softer now, like he’s not quite aware he’s doing it. Leaning against the counter Hardison smiles into his coffee mug. 

_“I'll look for you in old Honolulu_  
_San Francisco, Ashtabula_  
_Yer gonna have to leave me now I know_  
_But I'll see you in the sky above_  
_In the tall grass in the ones I love_  
_Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.” ___

“There somthin’ you wanna tell me, El?” Hardison asks lightly. “What?” Eliot growls. “S’with all the love songs, man?” Hardison asks, before he grins impishly and asks, “you finally find a woman willing to put up with you?” Eliot sneers at him. “What was that?” he demands, puffing out his chest at Hardison, “huh-“ “You heard me!” “O-oh what you think _I_ find it hard to get a girl? Tha’s rich comin’ from you!” “Uh, _excuse_ me, which of us has a girlfriend? Huh? Tha’s right, _me!_ ” “Oh that so?” Eliot asks, quirking an eyebrow. “So you _did_ get a girlfriend?” Hardison smacks him lightly on the arm. Eliot leers at him for a moment, before he chuckles and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m just messin’ with you.” “Oh, but what about--“ “It’s just a song, Hardison,” Eliot shrugs, “don’t mean anything.” “Oh,” Hardison says. “So you don’t, I mean, ya know... Nate ’n Sophie finally shacked up, ’n me an Parker are doin’ our thing an, I figured you might, ya know, be lookin’ to do the same.” Eliot shrugs mildly. “You figured wrong, I ain’t lookin’.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Eliot says. Turning to face Hardison he smiles gently. “I got everythin’ I need right here.” Hardison beams at him and Eliot grins back, just for a moment, before turning back to his frying pan. He hums softly as he cooks, rocking gently back and forth on his heels. It’s a little subtler than Parker’s happy stimming, but Hardison recognizes it nonetheless. 

Eliot grins as the little mare beneath him jumps into trot. Biting back a laugh he reins her in. Leaning back, he sinks his weight through his heels, slowing his rising and thinking calm thoughts. She slows gradually, but Eliot can feel the power there, the gentle, but constant tug against the reins, the bounce in her step, the flick of her ears. She’s calm now, because he’s asking, but he knows all he’d have to do would be sit, give her her head and they’d be flying. Part of Eliot aches for that, to just sit back and let go, to feel the wind on his face and the primal thrill of _going fast_. 

He swallows it though; it’s been almost three years since Eliot sat on a horse and it’s been over a decade since he rode fucking dressage. Plus, he’s attached to Hardison, who’s having a hard enough time not falling off at trot let alone anything more exciting. 

“Hey!” Eliot snaps at him. 

Hardison’s head whips round to him. “ _What?!_ ”

“Head _up_ , you wanna fall off? C’mon man, we talked about this!”

“Head up?” Hardison asks incredulously. “Head _up?_ Man if I put my head _up_ any more it is going to permanently detach from my neck!”

“Oh stop bein’ dramatic.” Eliot rolls his eyes. “An’ put your heels down!”

“Put-put my- my heels are down, man I think my feet are gonna fall off. D’you have _any_ idea how uncomfortable this is!”

“I’m doin’ the same thing you are, Hardison!”

“I wasn’t made for this! I miss Lucile! Why’d I let y’all talk me into this!”

“Sssshhh!” Eliot hisses. “You’re scarin’ the horses! An’ you didn’t let us talk you into this, we din’t give you a _choice_ , remember?”

“Oh I remember, alright!” Hardison grumbles. Eliot tunes him out as he beings to rant about his “constitutional rights.”

It started with a phone call, from Aimee of all people. They’d kept in touch after the race horse job but Eliot had still been surprised when she’d brought him a job herself. Some fancy stables had opened up a couple of miles from her and proceeded to begin scamming customers and abusing staff. So, naturally, they’d jumped on a plane and flown out to meet her.   
The fact that their best “in” on this job is either as staff or clients is why they’re in their current predicament. 

Parker has taken to horses like a duck to water. She and Aimee took off at the start of their trail ride and Eliot hasn’t seen them since. Hardison takes to it… less easily. Hardison’s sitting on a large, black horse with a white star on his forehead, imaginatively named Beauty. He’s long and lanky in a sleek, graceful kind of way and in stark contrast to Gem, Eliot’s little mare. She’s small and stocky, and kinda scruffy, all shaggy mane and unkempt feathers; he’s pretty sure she’s got cob in her. She’s powerful though, and hardy, with a personality the size of Nate’s ego. Eliot’s _dying_ to take her over Aimee’s cross country course. He’d like to think that Aimee assigned her to him because she knew how much he’d enjoy riding her, but he’s pretty sure she just wanted to rub in that he’s the only one short enough to ride her. 

Eliot glances over at Hardison and sighs at the look of absolute terror on his face. 

“Hey,” Eliot says, “you’re doin’ good.”

“ _Seriously_?” Hardison squeaks. 

“Hey,” Eliot cuts him off. “You’re fine, ok, I got you.” He raises the hand holding the lead rope joining them together. “I got you, s’fine, so just relax, alright? You’re scarin’ the horses!”

They ride in silence for a while, Eliot enjoying the feel of the sun on his face and of sitting on a large and unpredictable animal. 

“Hey, El,” Hardison says, somewhat hesitantly.

“What?”

“Thanks.”

“…Huh?”

Hardison shrugs, “I know you’d rather be out there with Parker and Aimee, an’ instead you’re stuck here lookin’ after me, so...” He shrugs again. “Thanks.”

Eliot shakes his head. “Quit bein’ dramatic, ain’t that bad,” he says, and then, “c’mon, man let’s trot.”

“Nope!” Hardison says. “Nuh-uh let’s not, nope.” He shakes his head firmly. Eliot just laughs, sitting back and pushing Gem into a trot again. Beside him Hardison yelps. 

Eliot glances back at him long enough to ensure he’s still on his horse before turning his attention back to the trail in front of him. 

They’re riding through a well worn trail surrounded by woods. Eliot watches the sunlight dapple on the ground and the trees swaying in the breeze and vaguely wonders why he’s left it so long since he last did this.

“Eliot?”

Eliot freezes. It’s late and he’s sitting in the front room, legs tucked underneath him, book in hand. He hadn’t realized he’d been rocking gently as he read, but Aimee obviously has. She looks like she can’t decide if she’s confused or amused. 

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “What?”

“What are you doing?” she asks cautiously.

“What?” Eliot says again. “Nothin’. Reading. Did you need something?” Eliot asks, setting his book aside.

“No,” she says, “just... saw the light on.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s late,” she says, sinking into one of the armchairs. “What’s wrong, couldn’t sleep?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Eliot shrugs. 

Aimee nods thoughtfully, sitting in silence for a moment before she says, “thanks for doin’ this, Eliot.”

“Hey,” he says, smiling fondly. “It’s what we do. ‘Sides, I couldn’t say no to you.”

“Yeah,” she chuckles, “I guess it is what you do.” There’s silence for a moment before she asks, “how’re you doin’ Eliot?”

“….What?” Eliot says. He tries to figure out what, specifically, she’s asking, but comes up blank. 

“I mean, in general, how’re you doin’?”

“Fine, I guess?”

“Are you, I mean, are you happy with them, doing what you do?”

Eliot considers it for a second, more to decide how to word it than to think about his answer. “Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, I am.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“I am,” she nods.

“Good.”

“Your team, they seem like good people.”

Eliot can’t help his fond smile. “They are.”

“You seem, I don’t know, different, more settled.”

Eliot nods slowly. “I guess I am.”

“You really love them, don’t you?”

“They’re my family.”

“I’m glad you found what you were looking for,” she says, then grins impishly. “Even if they are kinda odd.”

Eliot laughs. “Yeah well, _I’m_ kinda odd. What can I say, we make it work.”

“Well,” Aimee laughs. “That, I _had_ noticed.”

Eliot laughs too. “You should come up to Portland sometime, lemme show you the restaurant. I think you’d like it.”

“I’ve seen what you can do with my crappy little stove, I’d die to see what you can make with an entire restaurant!”

“Aw,” Eliot says. “I wouldn’t like to boast, but the food _is_ pretty damn good.”

They lapse into silence after that, Aimee doing something on her phone and Eliot turning back to his book. He’s contemplating going back upstairs and trying to sleep when Aimee says, “can I ask you something?”

“Sure?” Eliot shrugs. 

“Parker, um, she said she was autistic?”

Eliot raises an eyebrow. “That ain’t a question _or_ a secret.”

“So she is, then?” 

Eliot grunts an affirmative.

“Are you?”

Eliot freezes. He still hasn’t lost the panic response to being asked that. He forces himself to breathe, and then to nod. 

Aimee nods too, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“I--” Eliot falters. “It... it wasn’t _you_ , Aimee, I just... I got so used to hidin’ that I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Aimee nods and then stands, crossing the room and stopping in front of him. 

“I’m glad you found people you can be yourself around, Eliot,” she says, dipping to press a kiss to his cheek. 

Eliot blinks somewhat gormlessly at her retreating back as she turns. “Goodnight, Aimee,” he manages as she reaches the door. She pauses just for a second as he says it, before ducking into the hallway and out of sight. 

Eliot grins widely to himself. A part of him will always love Aimee, even if he isn’t _in_ love with her anymore, so having her acceptance means a lot to him. Besides, he thinks as he heads towards the bedroom, she’s right; he’s got it pretty damn good.


End file.
